


The Best Lies

by VelkynKarma



Series: Parallel by Proxy [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Gen, Gruesome Imagery, Injury, Killing, Kuron (Voltron)-centric, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, OC Character Death, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15422526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: The mission is simple: sneak in, plant explosives, sneak out. But when an old tormentor from Shiro's missing year makes an unexpected appearance, Ryou makes a few new adjustments to the mission parameters.





	The Best Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, this one does get dark. Heed the tags! 
> 
> I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and I’m stoked it’s finally a good time to share it :)

“I think I see it!” Lance says, squinting at the Blue Lion’s displays.  
  
“It looks about right,” Keith agrees. “Not the same one I went to, but the basic structure is the same.”  
  
Ryou’s angle isn’t quite as good as the others, but he can sort of make out the glow of lights through the deep ocean gloom as the underwater Galra facility draws closer. They must be miles deep in this foreign ocean, but the Blue Lion handles it just like it does space, cutting through the dark waters with fluidity and ease as Allura pilots them closer.  
  
With the coalition’s strength beginning to spread, the Galra were starting to become more cautious about how they handled their supply chains. With more rebels and more independent planets’ standing armies joining the fight, more and more Galra supply runs were being raided and interrupted, hampering the Galra war machine significantly. It was a strong blow against their enemy, but the Galra weren’t stupid. They’d gotten cleverer about transporting their valuable goods, weaponry, and quintessence stockpiles, by feeding them through hidden places less obviously under Galra control.  
  
Fortunately, the Blade of Marmora was equal to that, and had locations—or at least rough guesses—about many hidden facilities tucked away all over the galaxies. Keith had suggested Shiro request some of the data from Kolivan for making targeted strikes against the enemy. There had been plenty, although both Shiro and Ryou had found it curious that Keith hadn’t requisitioned the data directly, and Keith hadn’t volunteered further background.  
  
Ryou shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. Whatever bad blood has happened between Keith and the Blade of Marmora is a problem for another quintent. For now, they have a mission to deal with—wiping out this hidden underwater storage and transport facility, and putting another crack in the Galra war machine.  
  
“I think we should be close enough to scan the facility,” Pidge says. “According to our intel, they don’t use the flying drones this far down.”  
  
“Got it,” Allura says. Ryou can’t really see what she does—the Blue Lion’s cabin is crammed with all of the paladins, plus Matt, and it’s a little crowded with eight people. But he can feel the Blue Lion rumbling beneath his feet, and moments later a soft, repetitive chime fills the air as the Blue Lion’s sonic cannon activates. He watches the dashboard nearest to him with interest as a holographic screen flickers through a large quantity of information about the base in the distance.  
  
“Data received,” Matt says. “Compiling map of the facility now.”  
  
“Got it,” Pidge says. “Looks like there are some differences from the rough blueprints the Blade gave us. Updating now and sending a copy to everyone.”  
  
“Did they notice anything?” Shiro asks, leaning forward. He’s closest to the front in their little crush of paladins, one hand on Allura’s chair as he studies the Blue Lion’s visuals.  
  
“The Blue Lion senses no activity,” Allura says.   
  
“I’ve been monitoring their communication channels on the patrols up above too,” Hunk adds. “No activity.”  
  
“Good,” Shiro says. “Stage one was a success, then.” Haxeris was covered entirely in ocean, and had no cover close to the facility to use for stealth. So the plan had been to approach from far enough away under water that they wouldn’t be spotted on entry. Coming in underwater from a distance had prevented them from being seen, but it did require the Blue Lion—the only one of the five decent in water—as their method of transportation, which was why they were all crammed in here uncomfortably.   
  
Still, the mission will go better with stealth. The rest of the Voltron Lions won’t have the maneuverability necessary so far deep down to destroy the place, and it’s too huge for the Blue Lion alone to wipe out. Getting caught in a firefight that deep down could be a potential death sentence, so stealth is the only way to play this. And if they can pull this off, it will be a huge blow to a significant hub of Galra transportation. A little discomfort is worth it.  
  
“Begin stage two,” Shiro says. “Pidge, what’s our best point of entry?”  
  
“Docking station on the far left,” Pidge says. “Highlighting it on the map. It’s a smaller bay for smaller ships, and there’s nothing in the manifests. There should be no reason for anyone to be there today.”  
  
“I’m on it,” Allura says, angling the Blue Lion towards the indicated point on the map, which highlights the actual point in the Blue Lion’s visual display.  
  
With the entry codes supplied by the Blade of Marmora, getting in is easy. The Blue Lion reads as a docking Galra ship to the facility, enough to open the initial floodgates, but a little clever code work by Matt means the command center won’t actually be notified. Once in, Shiro and Pidge leave through the Blue Lion’s mouth hatch to access and hack the computers, forcing the water to drain and the second set of gates to open, letting them into the docking station itself.   
  
“All clear,” Shiro reports. Allura pilots them into the docking station proper, meeting Pidge and Shiro, and the Blue Lion crouches to open its mouth and let the rest of them disembark.   
  
“Deja vu,” Ryou comments idly, as he steps out into the docking station. “I feel like I’ve done this somewhere before.”  
  
Shiro snorts. “Hopefully this goes better than Beta Traz,” he says. Pidge and Lance both nod fervently in agreement.  
  
“A lot more people to help this time,” Ryou agrees.   
  
“Or a lot less Slav,” Shiro mutters. Then he shakes his head, and the leader voice is back. “Alright. Stage two complete. Stage three starts here—everyone knows the basics. Our goal is to complete this _without_ notifying the enemy of our presence. Everyone have their charges?”   
  
Everyone nods. They’ve each been given at least fifty Altean explosives, all of which are small and collapsible and fit into the paladin thigh-sheathes where bayards are usually stored for convenience. Matt, the only one not wearing paladin armor, has his very carefully stored in a rebel-issued side pouch alongside the holster for his staff.   
  
“Good,” Shiro says. “We’ll set those to anything significant, and rendezvous back here in one varga. Once we’re all back in the Blue Lion we’ll get to safe distance and blow the charges. Pidge, Matt—got any notable targets on that map?”  
  
“Plenty,” Matt says, bringing up the map they’d compiled. “A section over here has sentry supplies and repairs. Some manufacturing for ship parts. A whole lab full of quintessence tanks. This side has whole warehouse areas full of food, weaponry, uniforms, power crystals…the works.”   
  
“At least four places here too, where the structural integrity is weakest,” Pidge adds, highlighting more points on the map. “Charges here, here, and here would guarantee the place crumbles. A few other points would help along the way. And there’s a command center here—could have a lot of good data about supply movements.”  
  
“That’s spread out pretty far,” Hunk says, frowning.   
  
“Agreed,” Shiro says. “We’ll split into teams. Keith—take Lance, Matt, and Allura, and target those points of structural integrity on these levels, as well as the manufacturing and sentry repair areas.” He points at the map. “Keith should be able to get anyone into locked areas if needed. Hunk, Pidge, and Ryou are with me, we’ll target these other supply warehouse rooms and get to the command center to pull any data we can get. Everyone clear?”  
  
“As crystal,” Lance agrees. “Let’s blow some stuff up!”  
  
“One varga,” Shiro repeats. “Stay in contact if anything changes. Let’s go!”  
  
Keith opens the door into the facility proper from the docking station for them while Lance covers him, and gives the all clear when they’re sure nobody is in the hallways. Once out, the team splits, with Keith’s team running down the hall towards the right, following Matt’s instructions.  
  
“This way,” Pidge says, gesturing to their right. Ryou falls into step after her, alongside Hunk and Shiro, and they’re off.  
  
The facility is enormous, but it’s also not as populated as its size might imply. From the intel they’ve gathered, the place is running a skeleton crew at best, barely enough to cover the labor requirements for constantly storing and transferring goods. That still means hundreds of sentries and a few minor officers, but they’ll be concentrated to specific areas unless there are ships to deal with, and there shouldn’t be any today.   
  
That means the halls are fairly empty, other than the occasional flying drone or sentry patrol. Those are easy enough to avoid; Pidge can give enough warning that the four of them can duck into an empty room or behind a column before anyone arrives. The real danger is getting lost in this place, which is maze-like, with dozens of cross sections and a whole latticework of hallways, but with Pidge’s map the danger there is minimal.   
  
“Ten doboshes past,” Ryou says quietly.   
  
“We’re almost there,” Pidge says. And two hallways later, she stops. “Here,” she says, pointing at a pair of double doors. “This is a loading area. There’s a docking station for larger ships with some storage rooms off the side. I think they load up requisitioned supplies in advance so everything can be offloaded to the ships quickly, and store stuff here they take in until it can be sorted. According to the manifests, they got a big shipment in yesterday, and another one is scheduled to go out tomorrow. Lots of good stuff there to break.”  
  
“A docking station would be a good target for the charges,” Hunk adds. “Break the locks and all that water outside will come in and do some serious damage.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Shiro says. He presses his hand to the screen just outside the door at Pidge’s direction, and she manipulates the screens until they blink green and the door _whooshes_ open.   
  
All four dive in, ready to take down any waiting sentries that might be working here, but the room is empty. “Must not be working this place today,” Shiro says.  
  
“Great,” Ryou says. “I can solo this piece easy, then. You guys go ahead and hit the other targets.”  
  
Shiro frowns. “Alone?”  
  
“There’s no one here,” Ryou says. “I can handle setting the charges easily enough. You need Pidge and Hunk to hack the data in the command center, and they need you get in there to begin with. I can probably finish up in here and meet up with you guys before you even hit those other storage areas.”   
  
“We don’t know how long it’ll take to pull the data,” Hunk says slowly. “There’s probably gonna be people there in the command center.”  
  
“If we need to get back inside a varga, we should probably head there now,” Pidge agrees.  
  
Shiro considers for just a moment, but then nods. “Alright,” he agrees. “Ryou, get this place set up, and meet up with us after. But if anything goes wrong, let us know immediately.”  
  
“We’ll be taking a different route back from the other warehouses,” Pidge adds. “If something happens, you’ll want to head back the way we came.”   
  
“Not that it will…but I’ll keep that in mind,” Ryou says. The plan seems pretty airtight, but in his experience—and Shiro’s before him—there’s always room for a plan to go off the rails, and backup plan is always good. “Now get moving. I’ve got this covered.”   
  
They nod, and Pidge leads the way for them, until they disappear down the hallway and around a corner. Ryou steps inside the docking station and hits the button on the panel on the inside, closing the door behind him. His Olkari arm doesn’t function as a Galran skeleton key like his old prosthetic did, but with Pidge’s hack via Shiro’s arm, getting out again won’t be a problem for him. Better to keep the door closed so nobody outside suspects anything.  
  
Squaring his shoulders, Ryou surveys the area and gets to work.  
  
This docking station is huge, much larger than the one they’d hidden the Blue Lion in, but that’s not surprising. That station had been designed for small shuttle craft or fighters. This one, based on its size, is for the enormous Galra battle cruisers. There’s a huge set of double doors built into the floor in a small depression that are a couple hundred feet long at least, filled shallowly with seawater that hadn’t properly drained. Even then, that’s not large enough for a cruiser, just the top of one. They probably dock underneath the facility, and connect just enough for a single hatch to interlock with the docking station. The the ocean hatch dominates the room, leaving only a small section of floor on either side, where crates and some small machinery for moving them are stored.   
  
_Some storage, but not much,_ Ryou decides, eyeing the crates. Those were probably waiting in line to be loaded tomorrow, or had immediate supplies on hand for emergency repairs. They’ll be a good target, but the real focus will be elsewhere.   
  
_There!_ Off to one side are a pair of large double doors, currently open wide. Ryou heads over and cautiously pokes his head in, but there’s no movement inside immediately. There is, however, an absolutely _massive_ room, stacked floor to ceiling with enormous rigs and shelving that are stuffed with goods.   
  
“Jackpot,” Ryou murmurs, grinning. This should definitely keep him busy.   
  
The storage room is much bigger than anticipated. They could easily fit all of the Voltron Lions in here at least twice over and still have room for a couple pods, too. And it’s _filled_ with all kinds of goods, many of which are stacked haphazardly in what appears to be a holding area, closer to the docking station. Farther back, things become more organized, sorted neatly by type of item. Ryou finds weaponry, armor, foodstuffs, medicinal supplies, power crystals, cells of refined quintessence, and much, much more.   
  
_They’re getting an influx of supplies here,_ Ryou guesses. _This is just supposed to be prep storage for shipments, but with the coalition disrupting so many trade routes, everything’s getting redirected to this facility. It’s more than they can handle, with a skeleton crew like this. They’re just pulling things off of ships and shoving them in here without having the manpower to sort it all. The other warehouses are probably full to the brim, too._   
  
That was a good sign for Voltron, at least. It meant this place was an excellent target, and would put a severe resource drain on this section of the Galra empire. Determined, Ryou pulls out the first of his charges, and starts searching for good targets in the room to fix them to.  
  
The next doboshes are busy ones. Ryou finds good locations in the warehouse to fix the Altean explosives to, secreted away in locations where the blinking lights or bright white casings won’t stick out against the dark steel of the facility’s walls and doors. Some he fixes to the walls, to reduce the structural integrity and invite the ocean outside in. Others he attaches to valuable supplies, to ensure they’re destroyed, so not even Galra salvage teams can recover them. The refined quintessence and power crystals take up the bulk of his attention there—the less power the Galra have at their disposal, the better.  
  
Twenty doboshes in he still has half of his charges left, and there’s still a lot of unexplored space in this warehouse, but he thinks he’s found the bulk of the important things. _I’ll head back into the docking station and make sure that ocean hatch is set with charges,_ Ryou decides. _They’re huge, that’ll probably take most of what I have left. If I have anything left over I can go back in to search for more things to blow up._   
  
But as he starts heading back for the docking station through the empty warehouse, he hears the unmistakable thud of the doors in the docking station to the hallway opening, and the clang of footsteps on metal flooring. There’s no one on Team Voltron that sounds like that.   
  
“Uh-oh,” Ryou mutters under his breath.  
  
He makes his way back to the still-open double doors leading into the storage room, and peeks out carefully. There’s a lean Galra officer stomping his way across the docking station with two sentries in tow. For a moment, Ryou wonders if he’s been caught, but the officer doesn’t head for the storage room. Instead, he makes a beeline for the equipment alongside the massive ocean hatch in the middle of the room, with his sentries obediently following. He’s muttering something, but at this distance Ryou can’t make it out.  
  
Ryou has no idea what’s going on, but decides this is worth investigating. When all three are distracted, he darts from the storage room to the nearest stack of crates in the docking station, and then slips between more large boxes until he can get closer. He climbs the closest stack to the Galra officer carefully and quietly, taking a high enough vantage point that he won’t be immediately spotted. The glowing lines of his Altean armor blend in well with the glows of security pads and blinking lights on most of the crates, and as long as he stays flat and doesn’t draw attention, he can watch without anyone knowing he’s there.  
  
He can hear, too. “No respect for procedure,” the Galra officer mutters. “No warning. Don’t they get how this works? Lieutenant Commanders are always assuming they can just muscle their way through procedure. Demand what they want and they get it. We’re not staffed for this!”   
  
Ryou frowns. Lieutenant Commander? There wasn’t anybody of that rank in this facility. The Galra below is probably Relteg, one of three minor officers in charge of this area, based on his demeanor. They’d looked briefly into all three of officers before beginning the mission, to know who they were dealing with. None of them had the military skill or power to pose a huge threat to the mission as long as the team remained unseen.  
  
But Relteg seems agitated. He reaches the equipment alongside the docking bay, a tall boxy device covered in glowing yellow indicators, and presses several buttons before using both hands to twist a thick metal lever into place. The lever locks, and the giant bay doors in the floor begin to open, allowing some ocean water to flood inside—and, much more importantly, the top pod of a very large Galra cruiser.   
  
“No respect for procedure,” Relteg mutters again, as he steps around the bay doors to hurry for the point on the interlocking Galra cruiser where its passengers will disembark.   
  
Ryou curses under his breath, and suddenly understands the officer’s agitation. Another Galra ship? There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else here today. They’d specifically picked today because it _was_ a slow day in the facility, with no visits recorded in the manifests that Pidge had hacked. That meant less Galra troops to interfere with the mission. They hadn’t planned for _this._   
  
Ryou almost notifies the team right then and there, but stops himself. The hull of the Galra cruiser—what little he can see of it—is scarred from laser blasts. This ship might have arrived out of a pure emergency on their end, and there might not be enough soldiers or sentries on board capable of causing a threat. Or it may be purely a supply ship, disguised as a cruiser to keep from inviting in potential threats. There might not be any troops at all to cause problems.  
  
 _Assess first,_ Ryou decides. _Wait to see what the threat level is, then warn the others. Don’t cause unnecessary panic._   
  
The hatch on the Galra ship hisses open, and Relteg extends a ramp from the docking station floor to meet it. Two more sentries step out like honor guards, reach the docking bay floor, and take position on either side of the ramp. Once in place, the first living Galra—wearing Lieutenant Commander insignia on his armor—steps out of the ship.  
  
Ryou feels as though he’s been kicked in the stomach when he _recognizes_ that officer.  
  
The command insignia is new, but everything else is the same. Terkon is a brute of a Galra, tall, thickly built and muscular, with sharply pointed swept-back ears, a square jaw, and a nasty razor-toothed smile. He has no implants or prosthetics to accentuate his dark black and red armor, but his gauntlets are tipped with metallic claws. At his hip is a metal cylinder that’s currently deactivated, but Ryou knows when it’s turned on, it’ll become a crackling red whip of destructive energy, with a cruelly hooked tip. He knows, because he has first hand memories of facing it down before.   
  
Well. He has the memories, but they aren’t _his._ Ryou doesn’t really remember Terkon, but Shiro’s memories do, and seeing Terkon so suddenly is a sucker punch to his soul.   
  
Terkon had been the warden of the gladiator prisons when Shiro had been captured. He’d been a sadistic bastard, and a cruel bully. He enjoyed lording his power and control over his prisoners, keeping them in line, punishing them for even the tiniest transgressions. He actually _enjoyed_ the tasks the druids and Haggar set before him, to work prisoners into a prime state for experimentation. He got a real kick out of making prisoners so desperate they’d do anything to survive, anything to make the pain stop, anything to fulfill any task set in the arena. Shiro had suspected that Terkon got big payoffs the more entertaining a match was; Ryou thought he was probably right. There wasn’t a single prisoner in the Gladiator arenas that hadn’t suffered at his hands at some point.  
  
Shiro had hated Terkon with every fiber of his being. But he had feared him, too.  
  
And Ryou remembers that fear—the memories of every moment of dread come rushing back to him all at once, at the sight of Terkon sauntering down that landing ramp. But curiously, it feels distant, and doesn’t really touch him at all.   
  
He remembers being tormented at this person’s hands, and he remembers all the hurt and anger and terror, but none of it _feels_ like it happened to him. It feels like a story Shiro’s telling him in vivid detail, and it’s awful and terrible and cruel. Ryou is full of outrage for his predecessor and loathing for this man, and _those_ things feel immediate and intense and distinctly _his._ But for all of that, it’s just a _story_. None of it belongs to him anymore.  
  
 _It’s the decayed memories,_ Ryou realizes. Before his failsafe illness, every single one of these memories _would_ have most likely been as vivd and real as if they’d belonged to him too, the moment he’d overcome Shiro’s amnesia for that missing year.   
  
But after his illness, that’s no longer the case. This one had been triggered, pulled out of the darkness of that empty space in his and Shiro’s head, and it had certainly been enough to startle him. But the memory was weak. The failsafe had scrubbed away the intensity of it, and of many of Shiro’s other memories, if it hadn’t cleared them away entirely.  
  
It’s not the first time Ryou has encountered something like this. So far, he’s always found it frustrating, that the failsafe illness had taken so many things from him—good memories of kind people from Shiro’s past, or skills he’d once had, or even significant memories with the paladins.   
  
He never in a million years would have considered it a boon. Until now.   
  
So Terkon’s arrival catches him by surprise, but while Ryou recognizes his predecessor’s latent fear, it’s only recognition. There are no flashbacks. There’s no panic. It doesn’t trip him into a terrible spiral that he can’t control.   
  
But he is _angry._ This son of a bitch had hurt Shiro before Ryou had ever even been a thought. He’d done it badly enough to leave mental and physical scars that have lasted this long, even if Shiro doesn’t remember them.There’s nothing Ryou could have ever done to prevent that pain, but it doesn’t stop him from being furious on Shiro’s behalf.   
  
So Ryou watches, crouched on top of his crates, eyes glued to Terkon as the Galra officer saunters down the ramp. He waits, wanting to see what happens next.  
  
He doesn’t radio the arrival of another Galra ship in, like he’d originally planned. Terkon is an addition that can only lead to disaster. Ryou will figure out how to deal with this himself.   
  
“You!” Terkon barks at the minor officer, once he reaches the bottom of the ramp. “I need immediate resupply. And another detail of sentries. Half of mine were destroyed in the battle.”  
  
Relteg salutes, but when he speaks, it’s with clear frustration that he tries to cover over. “Sir,” he says, “With all due respect, this is not a facility for sentries. We can supply you with repair parts for the ones you currently have, if need be, but new ones would need to be requisitioned from—“  
  
“Ridiculous,” Terkon interrupts. His voice is loud, boisterous, and arrogant, and he sneers down at the other officer, who’s at least a foot shorter than him. “No sentries? You’ll give me yours, then.”  
  
“Sir, we’re running a skeleton detail as it is. We don’t _have_ the sentries to supply you and still keep up with the Empire’s orders—“  
  
 _“Ridiculous!”_ Terkon snarls, more vicious this time.   
  
Something very deep down in Ryou shudders in fear and takes note that the predator is becoming angered, and to stay cautious. Ryou recognizes it, and then dismisses it. He’s not the only one, though, and notes even the minor officer seems uneasy; he’s taken a step back. Not surprising. Terkon always had been a bully, even amongst his own.  
  
“I am a _Lieutenant Commander,”_ Terkon snaps. “I have _earned_ my rank dealing with all manner of scum for the Galra Empire. Have you even _seen_ combat? And now you’re telling me _no?”_   
  
_You probably clawed your way to that rank over hundreds of corpses,_ Ryou thinks, eyes narrowing. _Some of which were probably fellow Galra officers, but most of them would have been helpless prisoners, you cowardly piece of garbage._  
  
Relteg must know he’s in hot water, because he backs down. “I’ll make arrangements, sir,” he says finally. “In the meantime, we can see what we can do to repair the sentries you do have. Sir, the repair stations for the sentries are located on the _west_ side of the facility—if you had notified us via proper protocol, I could have directed you to the proper docking station to save you time—“  
  
“I don’t need your _permission,_ soldier,” Terkon snarls. But he smiles as he speaks, and shows all of his teeth, leaning in close to the smaller officer’s face. He’s baiting Relteg, and he knows it. “I’m a Lieutenant Commander. You’re _beneath_ me, so I don’t need your approval. If I choose to dock here, I choose to dock here, and you will accommodate me accordingly. Argue with me again, and there will be consequences.”  
  
Relteg swallows. Ryou _almost_ feels sorry for him. His status as a Galra officer will protect him a little more than a prisoner, but it won’t do much if Terkon decides to abuse his rank. In a contest between the two, especially in Galra society, Relteg will come up dead last if the higher ups investigate, and he knows it.    
  
The officer backs down again. “Of course, sir. We…we’ll prepare the sentry repairs and detail and ship them to this side of the facility. You mentioned needing resupply as well, sir? Do you…know what it is you require, so we can start preparing it?”  
  
Terkon waves dismissively at one of the two sentries that had left his ship. “They have the information. I don’t bother with such trivial things.”   
  
“Of course, sir.” Relteg points to one of his own sentries. “You—escort the Lieutenant Commander’s sentry to our main storage facilities and deliver the order that our men are to begin preparing whatever is required for resupply immediately. And you—“ he gestures to his second personal sentry, “—go ahead to the sentry repairs unit and begin having preparations made to accommodate the Lieutenant Commander’s request.”  
  
Both sentries salute, and turn to head back out into the hallway. Terkon gestures, and one of his own sentries follow. That leaves only Terkon, Relteg, and one last sentry; nothing else has exited the Galra ship, and the ship’s hatch has even closed.   
  
“I will need to see the full numbers, sir,” Relteg says, “But I estimate we should have you ready to depart in approximately four vargas.”  
  
“Too slow,” Terkon says. “You’ll have it done in two.”  
  
Relteg blinks, and appears genuinely surprised. “Sir—that’s—that’s impossible. I will of course have every single man and sentry at my disposal working exclusively on your orders, but without warning and with such a small crew, there’s no way I can—“  
  
“Are you telling me _no?”_ Terkon asks.   
  
His voice has gone soft, but the instincts buried in Ryou shiver in fear again. _Danger,_ Shiro’s mind almost seems to whisper. _Beware. Danger is coming._   
  
Again, Ryou acknowledges that, and then dismisses it. He knows to be wary. He will not be afraid.   
  
“You will have _two vargas,”_ Terkon repeats. His voice is still dangerously soft. “A tick more, and I will execute you personally for insubordination.”  
  
Relteg looks startled. “That’s not even—“  
  
“Do you think the higher ups will even care?” Terkon sneers. “You’ve already been relegated to this backwater. You’re _weak._ Nobody will care if you die.”   
  
_Nobody will care if you die._ Some of Terkon’s favorite words, Ryou can remember, although the words have no bite anymore. _Nobody here will give a damn if you die, except if they put money on you. Nobody’s rescuing you. That means the only person you can rely on is me._ I’m _the one who decides of you live or die, here. I decide when you eat. When you sleep. When you’ll be punished. I’m the only one who cares, so you’d best do whatever the hell I say._   
  
Prisoners never did have much of a choice otherwise. Terkon knew it, and he’d abused it. Impossible tasks were some of his favorite ways to make the desperate squirm, and it looks like more than two years haven’t changed a damn thing in the sick bastard’s head.   
  
The longer he watches the exchange, the more disgusted Ryou becomes.  
  
Galra don’t really go pale, but if he could, Ryou’s sure Relteg would be chalk white by now. “Yes sir,” he says. “Two vargas. I’ll assist with the shipments personally if I must.”   
  
“Good,” Terkon says, still grinning his cruel, sharp-toothed grin. “Now get me accommodations.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Accommodations, you worthless soldier!” Terkon snarls. “Do you expect me to stand here for two vargas while you and your incompetent crew resupply me? Find me someplace fitting of my rank.”  
  
The officer looks uneasy, but says, “Would the command center suffice, sir?”  
  
Ryou raises his head at that, and feels the first spike of real alarm shoot through him.   
  
“It will do,” Terkon says. “I will oversee your operations while I am here. You’ve been left alone too long in the backwater with no discipline from a superior officer. You need direction.”  
  
Shiro’s memories stir anxiously at the words. _Discipline_ from Terkon never ends well.   
  
Relteg swallows again. “We…welcome your direction, sir. Allow me to guide you to the location personally.”  
  
 _No. No!_ They can’t go to the command center. The others are there by now, trying to hack the data they need for the mission. More importantly, _Shiro_ is in the command center, and there’s absolutely no way he can handle an encounter with Terkon, not like this. If Ryou can remember Terkon, even with his damaged and degraded memories, seeing the cruel Galra so suddenly _will_ force Shiro to remember too.   
  
And unlike Ryou, Shiro will have a _very_ visceral reaction, the moment he lays eyes on Terkon. The way his own damaged memories keep surfacing every time Terkon says or does anything is enough to attest to that. Even as himself, Terkon had given Ryou a nasty shock, but Ryou at least has the benefit of those memories being decayed enough that he can handle them.   
  
Shiro doesn’t. And the moment he sees Terkon, all that pain, all that suffering, all that panic and fear, it will all come back at once. Everything Terkon says or does will make it worse. At best, Shiro will freeze, and at worst, he’ll spiral into a full-on panic attack or flashback that he can’t save himself from. Terkon is too cruel to let it slide—he’ll see that weakness, and he’ll use it. And for all that he’s a bully, Terkon is _dangerous._   
  
Shiro _can’t_ afford weakness against an opponent like this. It won’t be his fault, but he won’t be able to stop it. Even with Hunk and Pidge there as backup, it’s too dangerous a risk to let happen. And even if they live through it, it’ll be agony for Shiro for days or weeks or months after, cutting open old mental scars to let them bleed all over again.  
  
Terkon had hurt him too badly. And he’ll do it again in a heartbeat.  
  
But Ryou won’t let that happen. Terkon can’t hurt _him_. Not that way. Not anymore. And he’s not letting this son of a bitch get at Shiro. Not again. Not ever.   
  
Eyes narrowed, Ryou starts to move, leaping lightly to the next set of crates the moment Terkon, Relteg, and the sentry turn their backs on him. As he does, he patches into the Voltron-wide communications, and says quietly, “Shiro. Not gonna make rendezvous.”  
  
“Is something wrong?” Shiro asks. Ryou can hear the concern in his voice.  
  
“Nothing bad. I got interrupted, but I wasn’t seen,” Ryou not-quite-lies. “Couple sentries are heading your way. They were here talking about requisitioning supplies for an incoming shipment, so head’s up. I couldn’t move while they were here.” At least the team won’t be caught by surprise. If they’re lucky they can catch the sentries before the rest of the crew gets pulled in on the emergency resupply job. “Going to finish up now, but I lost a little time.”  
  
“One of us can come back—“  
  
“Don’t bother. You’ll need all three of you to handle things up there,” Ryou says. The last thing he needs is any of the others— _especially_ Shiro—coming back in the middle of this. “Seriously, I’ve got this. I don’t think they’re coming back. I’ll meet up back at the Blue Lion.”   
  
“Alright,” Shiro agrees. He sounds reluctant, but Ryou can tell he’s trying hard to give Ryou a chance to handle himself. “But I’m serious, call if you need help.”  
  
“Promise,” Ryou says, and cuts the feed.  
  
It’s amazing, how easy it is to lie over an audio transmission. It’s harder in person—too many other details to give him away, especially to Shiro. It’s much easier with just his voice, because then it’s all about _truth._   
  
If he’s learned any one thing from being a clone, it’s that the best, most believable lies are built out of something that’s _mostly_ truth. There’s enough of a real foundation here that the others have no reason to doubt him. He doesn’t think he’ll be interrupted.  
  
Perfect.   
  
Terkon’s halfway to the doors leading to the hallway, so Ryou will need to move fast. He leaps to the next stack of boxes along the way, and then the next. As he does, he taps the pale green ‘V’ on his paladin armor with his right arm, and a dark, almost-black violet melts out over the color accents on all of his armor. Within seconds, he’s all but indistinguishable from Shiro.  
  
Almost, anyway. There’s one more important detail to factor in. Taking a step back until he’s hidden in the shadow of one of the massive posts in the docking station, Ryou activates his Olkari prosthetic. Instead of the pale green, intricate veins of the Olkari weapon, his whole hand sparks a gleaming, sickly purple, and the glow extends up to his elbow.   
  
Part of Ryou shudders with revulsion, and that’s all _him_. This is not a color he’s ever wanted to own again, not in this way.   
  
But mostly he’s grimly satisfied. Ryner’s fix had worked. He’d never told Shiro, or anyone else, about how he went back to see her for this; he’s sure Shiro at least would object, and it would confuse the others. But the Galra arm is too much of a standout detail on Shiro for Ryou to not be able to at least visually replicate it. So he’d asked for the color change, to activate when his armor had adjusted. It won’t function the same way as Shiro’s arm, but as long as it _looks_ right, nobody will question. And if it gives him a way to safeguard Shiro, it’s worth the discomfort on his part.  
  
After all, the best lies are ones that are _mostly_ true. Just enough to hide the falsehoods.   
  
He deactivates the arm, and leaps ahead the last two stacks of crates, until he’s parallel with Terkon, Relteg, and the remaining sentry. They’re nearly at the door, which is already opening for them. It’s now or never.  
  
Shooting would be easiest, but there’s no way to bring down all of them before somebody sounds the alarm. That means that Champion is going to be absolutely vital for controlling this encounter, and Shiro doesn’t have range.   
  
So instead, Ryou launches himself into the fight from the crates, boosting his speed with his jetpack. He slams down hard on the sentry, sending the bot’s firearm skittering off to one side as his jet-propelled jump cracks its chest plating and sends its head rolling. It sparks beneath his feet, down for the count.  
  
Relteg yelps, but before he can reach for the sword at his side, or the communicator on his wrist, Ryou is already on him. He grabs the Galra officer’s arm and twists him around towards the wall. When Relteg stumbles, Ryou brings his Olkari arm to the Galra’s head, and cracks it against the metal wall with a hefty slam. His prosthetic lacks the brute, raw strength of Shiro’s, but it’s still more than strong enough to leave a bloody welt in Relteg’s head as the Galra slumps to the ground, unconscious.   
  
Still moving in a blur, Ryou darts the remaining two steps to the side, to slam his hand down on the ‘close’ button for the door to the hallway. As he whirls around to face Terkon down directly, putting his back to the door, he swears he can feel it thud shut behind him.   
  
It’s not sealed, but Ryou is still left with the inexplicable sensation that he’s just locked himself in with a deadly opponent for a one on one death match. The door snapping shut almost sounds like the energy walls used in the arena fights. No escape now—fight for your life, if you still want to have one, Champion.   
  
But then, that’s the _point._ Ryou recognizes the feeling, but so will Terkon. He’ll find it exciting, familiar, entertaining—enough that he _won’t_ call for reinforcements, because he won’t want his fun interrupted. Enough that he’ll play along with this little cage match, expecting to win.   
  
Ryou will feed him whatever he needs, to get this bastard _exactly_ where he wants him.  
  
True to form, Terkon looks outraged at first. By the time Ryou stops moving his arm is already half raised to his mouth to sound the alarm, and it’s clear he’s absolutely livid about the breach of security.   
  
But inevitably, just as Ryou had predicted, he freezes when he spots the pseudo-black stylized ‘V’ of Ryou’s paladin armor. By now, many Galra know that one of their infamous gladiators wears the armor of the black paladin of Voltron. Terkon must know the meaning of the color as well, because within ticks his eyes flick deliberately to Ryou’s face, and the scar that slashes prominently across his nose, visible even with the paladin helmet’s visor.   
  
Terkon smiles. It’s a horrible smile, one that shows his sharp teeth, with a cruel twist to his lips. He lowers his arm to his side, abandoning any intention of sounding the alarm over an intruder. “Champion,” he all but purrs, and the one name alone is hungry and predatory.   
  
Something deep inside of Ryou, where Shiro’s thoughts and instincts still reside, whimpers softly in fear.   
  
It’s almost surreal. Ryou _knows_ Shiro has things he’s afraid of. He’s had them too. Shiro’s not as unbreakable as the rest of the team sometimes thinks. But Shiro’s thoughts and memories, his residual instincts and learned habits, all convey a sense of pained resignation. It’s _Ryou’s_ mind, but it’s almost as though Shiro’s still there, whispering, _He’s seen me. It’s too late. Have to hold out. Just hold out. Was resisting worth it? Oh god, can I hold this time?_   
  
It’s surreal, but mostly it just makes Ryou _angry_. He knows Shiro has weaknesses, but he knows Shiro is _strong_ too, even despite them. He hates knowing somebody as strong as his predecessor can be reduced to _this._ He hates knowing that if Terkon gets through that door behind him, this will happen to Shiro, for _real._   
  
_Not on my watch,_ Ryou thinks. _I_ am _going to hold. I promise, Shiro._   
  
Shiro’s overwhelming response would leave him paralyzed with indecision and fear. There would be too many memories and too many emotions bombarding him, and not enough time to sort through them all.   
  
Ryou takes that and rolls with it. He goes stock still, muscles tense, letting himself borrow just enough of those emotions to properly affect fear and shock on his face. It’s hard, because he’s not scared, he’s _furious._ It takes work to smother that anger, and he can’t quite keep the smolder of loathing out of his eyes as he stares at Terkon.   
  
But that’s in character too, and even Terkon recognizes it. He laughs. “Still that fire in your eyes, Champion,” he sneers. “I could never quite beat that out of you. You always _were_ a rabid beast—that’s why the crowds loved you. But you seem to have forgotten who your masters are.”   
  
“I have no masters,” Ryou says, forcing his voice low enough that it rasps uncomfortably. It makes him sound shaky and uncertain. Shiro would be, after a barb like that. “I’m a paladin of Voltron.”  
  
Terkon laughs again at that. “You’re _weak,”_ he says. “Worthless as a paladin. Look at you. Frozen at just the sight of me. Didn’t expect to see me, did you? But you remember your training, at least.”   
  
Ryou would love love nothing better than to rush forward and put a well-timed blast through Terkon’s face at the implication that Shiro is _obeying_ this sick bastard. But Shiro wouldn’t dare; Terkon is too dangerous for a foolhardy maneuver like that. Ryou stays put, even if he hates it.   
  
“You were _made_ for the arenas, Champion,” Terkon says. “It’s all you’re good for.”   
  
The Shiro in him feels only the smallest flutter of anger at that. Most of it’s resignation. Exhaustion. Revulsion. But that’s just fine. Ryou has enough anger for the both of them. And still, he stays put.   
  
Terkon seems amused by the way Ryou remains frozen. “That’s something the higher ups never understood. They said Champion was causing trouble with Voltron. I told them, just let _me_ at him. I know him better than anyone. I can _break_ him.”   
  
_Rambling,_ Shiro’s memories note. _He’s eager. He’s unpredictable. Need to brace. Brace for what? I don’t know who the target will be. Me, or someone else? Someone else…can I let that happen? I can’t. I can’t, but oh god, I don’t want it to be me again. Not again._  
  
 _Just. Hold_ , Ryou councils himself, ignoring the plethora of faded thoughts rolling around in his head. He lets his breathing grow just a little faster, a little more panicked, but that’s it. _You’ll have your chance. He won’t feel that again._   
  
“I _earned_ my rank, you see, Champion,” Terkon purrs. “Lieutenant Commander. They saw how well I did with you and the rest of the scum.” He shakes his head, affecting disappointment. “But they laughed. Said I’d never get near you. Near _any_ part of Voltron.”  
  
 _You know I’m with Voltron, but you refuse to call for backup,_ Ryou notes. A smart officer would be—any Voltron paladin in this dump means there are other paladins somewhere else.   
  
But Terkon isn’t smart. He’s dangerous, but he’s a bully and a glory-hog first and foremost. He has Champion in his sights, and he has a _history_ with Champion. The chance to torment him again, to make him hurt, will be too enticing to let pass. His own arrogance and cruelty will drive away any chance of making the intelligent call. Champion is too personal a prize for anything less.   
  
And sure enough, Terkon reaches for the metal cylinder at his hip, rather than for his communicator. “I knew it would happen. I looked forward to meeting you again, Champion. And I’ll finally get to show them how wrong they are.”  
  
The Shiro instincts deep in the back of Ryou’s head whimper again.   
  
But Ryou thinks, _Perfect._   
  
The energy whip lashes out shockingly fast, its metal tip striking like a scorpion’s tail for Ryou’s head. He lets himself move again, hurling himself to the side and diving into a safety roll. He feels the heat of the weapon close to him as he does, and hears it clatter into the metal floor hard enough to crack it, scoring a thick stripe in its surface.   
  
Ryou’s barely on his feet before Terkon has the whip lashing around to strike at him again. This time Ryou kicks himself upwards with a little help from his jetpack, narrowly managing to leap over the cruel energy whip, like he’s playing the most deadly version of jump rope the world has ever seen.   
  
He manages to land roughly on one of the nearby crates, and spins around to face Terkon again. As he does, he throws his right arm out to the side, flat like a blade, and allows his arm to charge up. The Olkari prosthetic bursts to life at once, but with its fake Galra purple rather than its own natural green. Ryou still can’t shoot from this distance, but Terkon would expect Shiro to activate the one weapon he has immediately.  
  
Sure enough, Terkon’s vicious smile grows wide with cruel excitement at the sight of Champion’s ‘Galra’ hand. “Still fight in you, Champion, I see!” he crows. “But how will you reach me?”  
  
The whip snaps down again, and Ryou hurls himself to the side once more, narrowly missing being struck. The sight of the whip bearing down on him stirs Shiro’s memories again, and they churn frightfully. Beatings with that whip, for speaking back out of turn. For sharing his water with another prisoner. For sparing another fighter’s life in the arena. For looking at Terkon in a way he didn’t like. For not showing his suffering _enough_ from the other beatings.   
  
Shiro’s back is covered in lacerations from that metal tip, lacerations cauterized permanently in place from the brutal red energy of the weapon. Lacerations replicated on Ryou himself, though he has a feeling he didn’t receive them the way he’s remembering now.   
  
The more Terkon strikes, the more Ryou remembers the details, but they still don’t feel like his. They’re terrible stories Shiro tells him, little shocks he can feel sympathetic over, but that’s all. He’s sure he isn’t even remembering all of them; the failsafe has probably removed more from him permanently, and he can’t feel those at all.   
  
_I understand, but I won’t fear him for this,_ Ryou thinks, as he rolls out of the way of the next strike.  
  
He doesn’t even have the time to be furious on Shiro’s behalf, anymore. He’s slipping too deeply into the fight itself to have time for things like anger. He can worry about that after.  
  
Ryou skids to his feet and snaps his arm out to the right again for another charge—he’d lost the first one in his mad dive to escape. The Olkari arm glows to life obediently again, but Ryou still has nothing to use it on.   
  
“Pathetic,” Terkon sneers. “You’ve lost your edge, outside the arena, Champion.”  
  
Ryou tries to dive closer to him, but the whip snaps about almost lazily, and Ryou is forced back before he can make more than a foot of progress. He curses to himself. For all Terkon’s arrogance, he does have a point. That blasted whip provides too much range, and there’s no way Shiro could ever get close.   
  
Ryou could take a shot, but he’d have to get extremely lucky, enough to bring Terkon down in one hit. If he doesn’t, the ruse is over, and Terkon will call for help. If he’s not facing Champion, he won’t bother to play this little cage match out to torture his favorite prisoner. And with Terkon’s constant aggressive attacks, Ryou’s not sure he can make that shot. He can’t waste his element of surprise now.  
  
 _Remove his advantage,_ Ryou decides. He’ll need to get the whip away, and to do that, he has to reduce its functionality. In this open space, Terkon has too much advantage, and there’s too much of a chance for others to notice or overhear.  
  
Letting a brief look of fear cross over his face, Ryou turns and bolts for the supplies room he’d been setting charges in.  
  
“Running?” Terkon roars. “Coward!” But there’s cruel excitement in his voice as he thunders after Ryou. He’d always loved fear. Any victim of his running was probably a highlight.   
  
Shiro’s instincts quake at the sound of Terkon clomping after him. _Can’t win. Can’t ever win. It’s inevitable. He’s just toying with me. He’s coming. This will hurt._   
  
That’s right, Ryou remembers now. Terkon played games like this often, letting you think you’d escaped his notice on a transgression, only to come back and punish you for it later. The _clank_ of his armor down the halls coming towards your cell instilled dread for every prisoner there, and everyone wondered: who’s he caught? Who infuriated him? Who was next?   
  
The noise had been enough to remember. But the memories are just that: memories. They can’t evolve or understand. They don’t know Ryou is in control of the situation this time.  
  
Ryou dives into the storage room just in time, and throws himself to the right into the nearest scaffolding full of supplies as Terkon’s whip cracks down right where he’d been. _Avoid the charges_ , he reminds himself. Terkon will flail about with that whip uncaringly, and the last thing Ryou needs is to blow them both to kingdom come. But there are sections he hasn’t concentrated charges at yet, so he heads for those.  
  
Terkon saunters in bare ticks later. Ryou watches him from the shelter of some scaffolding and loose supplies as he sneers and looks about himself. “Where are you, Champion?” he calls. “You can’t hide, you worthless coward. Come out and _fight.”_   
  
He looks like he’s about to stomp off towards an area with quintessence that Ryou had already set to blow, so Ryou deliberately tips something off of the nearest scaffolding, just to make noise and catch Terkon’s attention. Terkon’s ears twitch, and he whirls abruptly, snapping out the whip towards the nearest set of shelving and the goods in them. The whip’s crackling red energy slices through the simple metal and basic supplies with a hiss, and the shelves start to collapse as they snap in two, scattering supplies down on Ryou.  
  
Ryou curses, and dives away into the dark as he narrowly avoids being smothered. The whip cracks down again a hair’s breadth from his ankle, but then he manages to disappear into a second stack of supplies, and hurries deeper down into the little alleyways the rows and rows of shelves create.  
  
“Do you remember the _first_ time you refused to fight, Champion?” Terkon calls after him.  
  
Shiro’s memories stir again. _No. Please._  
  
 _It’s past,_ Ryou thinks. _This can’t hurt me. No matter how much he wants it to._   
  
“You refused to go into the arenas,” Terkon purrs. “You wanted to incite a rebellion. You refused to participate, even if I beat you. The other prisoners even started to follow you.”   
  
_It hurt so bad to be strong,_ Shiro’s memories whisper. _I had to do it. I had to. I had to live as_ me. _I couldn’t keep…oh god, I’m so sorry, I never should have—_  
  
“Do you remember what I did to break you of that, Champion?” Terkon asks.   
  
_I’m so sorry,_ Shiro’s memories whisper in the back of Ryou’s head. He can feel the memories beginning to claw themselves free now. _I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I never meant for—I’m so sorry—_  
  
“I executed every single one of your cell mates in front of you,” Terkon says. He sounds almost gleeful. “Every single one of them lost their lives for _your_ transgressions, didn’t they, Champion?”   
  
The memories finish bubbling up out of the dark as Terkon finishes speaking, and Ryou is treated to faded but still terrible images of just that. Shiro, watching helplessly, begging Terkon to stop, as one by one each of the eight prisoners in his cell are dragged out shrieking and summarily executed for someone else’s faults. The colors are faded, and the scents of blood are gone, the images distorted, but even so, what’s left of Shiro’s personality and instincts in Ryou weeps over that tragedy.   
  
Even for Ryou, it hurts. Like a sudden, terrible shock, and a dull, sick sense in his stomach after. But it fades. He can push those things aside, like some terrible story he’s seen on the news. It’s tragic. It should never have happened. But it didn’t happen to _him._   
  
The whip lashes out through the dim gloom of the storage room, and Ryou barely ducks in time. It cuts through the scaffolding above him and sends more supplies scattering. A large drum of heavy oil cracks him hard in the side as it collapses, and Ryou curses in pain, grateful for his armor.   
  
“Weak,” Terkon observes, rounding the corner, and snaps the whip down again.   
  
Shiro might have been paralyzed by the memories; even now, they’re still stirring in Ryou’s head angrily in the background, trying to punish him for his failures. Ryou can ignore them, and he manages to dodge, although the whip scores a gash in his leg with its metal tip.   
  
That _hurts,_ and the pain is enough to send Shiro’s memories into a frenzy. Things from that dark year blossom in Ryou’s head, memories of pain at Terkon’s hands, each memory doing its best to claw its way to the forefront. Terkon deliberately striking wounds Shiro had gained in the arena that day. Terkon beating him near senseless because he had refused to give a proper show in the arenas. Terkon whipping him repeatedly until he’d stopped fighting when the scientists came.   
  
_That never happened to me,_ Ryou thinks, and pushes the frenzied memories back. _It’s only one cut. I’ve had worse in practice._   
  
It’s stunning, how easy it is to push those terrible thoughts away, but incredibly, Shiro’s memories settle down after a few more weak attempts to surface. They aren’t wanted, and Ryou dismisses them easily.  
  
But he does _learn_ from them. As Terkon stomps closer Ryou knows to affect panic. Shiro would know what was coming; Shiro would know he was in trouble. He staggers to his feet, and while walking on his wounded leg does hurt a little, he deliberately exaggerates the limp and the extent of his struggles.   
  
Terkon’s eyes light up in delight at the sight of the wound. _That’s it,_ Ryou urges, as he makes another exaggerated struggling step to try and ‘escape.’ _Come on. Champion’s hurt, don’t you want to mess with him up close and personal?_   
  
But while Terkon is stupid, he _does_ know how dangerous Champion can be, and he keeps his distance. Ryou curses in his head, but that’s not surprising. All of Shiro’s pain-filled memories stirring in the background agree: Terkon had always hurt him from a distance, until Shiro was too weak or in pain to fight back, and _then_ he’d come close enough to continue punishments with his own claws if he’d wanted.   
  
_Coward_ , Ryou thinks.   
  
He keeps his affected limp, but turns it into a stumble with more momentum, and manages to slip around the corner of another group of shelving before Terkon can attack again. Once he does, he books it, ignoring the sharp twinge in his leg that’s real, and the anxious memories in the back of his head that aren’t.   
  
Terkon’s whip slices through overhead again, cutting through sacks of supplies and sending more items crashing to the floor in an avalanche. Ryou dodges aside, wincing only a little when he slides on his bad leg, and then ducks behind a pile of destroyed crates of foodstuffs as the miniature avalanche settles. He blends in well here with the metallic crates and deep shadows.   
  
_If taunting won’t work, then an ambush,_ Ryou decides.  
  
The whip crashes through more supplies, this time in the wrong direction. Ryou can see the arc of red energy as it whizzes through more shelving and scaffolding, and feel the tremor through the floor as things clatter to the ground. Terkon is doing a number on the Galra’s own supplies; at this rate, the charges won’t even be necessary.   
  
“Come out, Champion!” Terkon hollers. “You know it will be worse if you cause trouble.”  
  
Ryou says nothing.  
  
“No? Well then. Do you remember what happened to that korikan slave?” Terkon taunts. “He hadn’t even earned a name.”  
  
Shiro’s memories bloom again as more things slither out of the darkness of that year and come to light, and that core that’s still Shiro moans. _No. Please. Please. Stop._   
  
Ryou narrows his eyes as he watches and listens to Terkon’s progress through the base, pushing the new mental assault away. He can hear the bastard is coming closer.   
  
“You’d been _protecting_ him, hadn’t you?” Terkon continues, wrecking another section of scaffolding as he lashes out with the whip again in the wrong direction. “Stupid thing couldn’t even handle the _prisons._ What difference did you think you could make, Champion? Hah! Who was the first fighter he faced in the ring?”  
  
Shiro’s memories are agonized. _Me,_ they whisper. _It was me. It was me and I murdered him._ The images are distorted, but Ryou can remember the little newt-like creature, only half his size. He remembers giving him tips on how to survive the prison life. Helping him secure his own food, when others tried to take it. Talking to him about his family that he was desperate to see again. Listening to him beg in the arena, pleading for mercy, for another way. Pinning him and breaking his neck as quickly as possible—the only mercy left in the arena.   
  
Terkon had beaten him for that after, too. Not enough show. Too efficient. Disappointed crowds.   
  
Shiro’s memories weep again over the cruelty of it. _I didn’t want to do this. I don’t want this. That’s not me. Please. Stop it. Stop it._   
  
“Stop it,” Ryou rasps out loud, shaky and weak-sounding.   
  
Terkon catches the pleading, and whirls, heading back in the right direction. _Good,_ Ryou thinks, pushing the weak memories of suffering back again, quieting the weeping Shiro in him. _Come over here so I can destroy you for what you did to him already._   
  
“Stop?” Terkon crows. “Stop what, Champion? Telling the truth?” He flails around with the whip, destroying another section of scaffolding. This comes closer to Ryou’s position, but Ryou holds steady, not letting the scattered debris chase him out of hiding. “Do you remember your warm-up fights?”  
  
They threw the new fodder at him, just like he and the others had been for Myzax. They hadn’t stood a chance. If Shiro refused to fight, they’d die in more creative, painful ways. At least he could make it relatively painless.  
  
 _I didn’t want to,_ Shiro’s memories sob, agitated and roiling in the back of Ryou’s head. _That’s not who I am. Stop. Please._   
  
Terkon steps closer. Lashes out again, with whip and with words. “The terrekkis slave?”  
  
Shiro had stepped in to interfere with a beating another slave had been taking, for not being quick enough to fall into line, even though he’d been wounded. Terkon had turned the cudgel on him instead. Shiro had taken the beatings stoically, knowing he’d at least spared another, knowing he could handle it. That other had been beaten to death anyway, minutes after his own punishment had been completed.  
  
 _It wasn’t supposed to be like that,_ Shiro’s memories whisper helplessly. _I wanted to help. I wanted to…too weak…so weak…_  
  
Another step closer. Another strike. Debris crashes down around Ryou, but he holds his position. “The londian you killed?”  
  
He hadn’t killed him directly. The poor slave had been starving; Terkon had removed his food rations to urge him to kill in the arena. Shiro had slipped him some of his own when Terkon wasn’t looking. Terkon had been furious, and thrown the slave in against one of the nasty high-ring fighters with a taste for cruelty. The slave had been weak from malnutrition. It had been a bloodbath.   
  
_Can never do anything right,_ Shiro’s memories moan. _I just cause death. I can’t…I can’t…stop, please…_  
  
Ryou remembers everything. It all hurts, but it’s painful because Shiro’s memories are so agonized, and he hurts for his predecessor’s suffering, not because he feels it. Each of Terkon’s words are like knives digging ruthlessly into Shiro’s soul, targeting with cruel, vicious accuracy. Terkon knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. Shiro would be hurting. Shiro would be helpless. Shiro would be completely at Terkon’s mercy.   
  
Ryou barely feels those knives. They sting, but all that does is give him resolve. _Never again,_ he snarls. _Never again. Just a few more feet and you’re_ mine, _you son of a bitch._   
  
“You’re at your best when you _fight,_ Champion,” Terkon says. “That’s what I’ve always tried to get into your head.”  
  
He’s close enough that Ryou can see the details now, even in the gloom. Terkon still doesn’t know exactly where Ryou is, but he seems content destroying the place until he finds his prey. His hand raises, and the energy whip snaps back, ready to slice around in another strike.  
  
 _Not again,_ Shiro’s instincts whisper, weak, exhausted.  
  
But Ryou ignores them, and instead thinks, _Now._   
  
The whip slices through the air, coming around in a wide arc towards Ryou’s hiding place, cutting through everything in its path. At the last moment, Ryou leaps up, snaps up his energy shield on his right arm, and slams it forward to intercept.   
  
The whip wraps around the shield in a tangle, and around Ryou’s arm as well. The armor immediately begins to sizzle, and Ryou can feel the heat of it through his glove. It’s _agony,_ real, in the moment pain, even with the protection of the armor. His Olkari prosthetic, even this new version, can sense both heat variation and pain, and this weapon causes both in spades.  
  
But he grits his teeth, and refuses to let himself scream. Terkon knows Shiro has a Galra arm, and he knows Shiro can’t feel anything with it. He has to keep up the charade, for just a few doboshes more, and this _would_ be a technique Shiro would use.  
  
Terkon looks legitimately surprised as Ryou catches his weapon. It’s just enough time for Ryou to act. With a hoarse yell, he tugs with his arm, wrenching his whole body into the movement. The extra pressure on his Olkari arm hurts like hell, and it strains at his right shoulder. His bad leg throbs in pain.  
  
But the other end of the whip slips out of Terkon’s stunned fingers, and clatters across the floor towards Ryou.   
  
The moment it’s close enough, Ryou drops the shield on his arm, and the now too-loose coils slip off of his prosthetic and armor and into an untidy pile at his feet. The moment it’s no longer touching anything, the weapon retracts back into its handle, until the cruel metal tip clicks shut against the cylinder. Ryou kicks it far away, underneath one of the shelving units that hasn’t been destroyed yet.   
  
His arm hurts less immediately. It’s still registering pain, but now that the cause is gone, that will stop. It’s not really injured, after all.   
  
Breathing harshly, Ryou looks up, and meets Terkon’s eyes again. Then he snaps his arm out to the side, and his Olkari arm bursts to life again in vibrant Galra purple.   
  
Terkon looks shocked, but then his horrible grin is back, showing teeth. “Still that fire, Champion,” he crows. “The people will love you back in the arenas. But you _still_ haven’t learned your place.”  
  
Neither has Terkon. He hasn’t run, or called for help. He still thinks ‘Champion’ is wounded and weak. He doesn’t think he’s fighting a paladin of Voltron; he thinks he’s tormenting a slave.   
  
_Almost, Shiro,_ Ryou thinks. _Almost, you’re safe._  
  
Ryou charges.  
  
That’s something even Shiro’s tormented, frenzied memories can get behind. Shiro knows fighting. Champion knows fighting. Both hate Terkon with every fiber of their being. They’re afraid—but if the opportunity comes to fight back, they’ll take it.  
  
Ryou gives them that chance.   
  
He strikes. Once, twice, three times, each time leading with his right arm, like he intends to cut his way through Terkon’s armor. If he actually lands a blow, Terkon will catch on quickly that the glowing purple hand doesn’t slice like Shiro’s should, but that’s not Ryou’s goal. He lets Terkon deflect, and Terkon is at least smart enough to know how dangerous letting Champion’s Galra hand connect would be. He’s careful to focus on that first and foremost.   
  
Terkon slaps the strikes aside, laughing. _“Weak,”_ he crows, as he slices with his own metal-tipped claw gauntlets. Ryou narrowly dodges, skipping back a few paces out of Terkon’s longer reach. “You’ve gotten soft with your stupid paladins, Champion.”  
  
Ryou narrows his eyes. By now, Shiro would be enraged, but also desperate. Terkon still has an advantage in strength and size, and letting the fight go on too long when wounded decreases his chances of victory. Now’s the time to really strike.  
  
So he feints left. Terkon crouches a little, reaching with one massive hand to deflect, and Ryou whirls at the last minute. He reverses momentum and strikes with his right hand, fingers flat like a blade just like Shiro favors, aiming straight for Terkon’s face.   
  
Terkon catches it, clawed fingers digging into Ryou’s forearm just behind the wrist, barely a foot away from his eyes.   
  
Ryou strains to push his arm forward, digging his feet into the metal flooring. Terkon’s grip doesn’t budge, and his metal-tipped claws dig into the paladin armor hard enough to leave nicks in the material.   
  
Everything that is Shiro in him _panics._ Memories whip up again in a frenzy, every single instance that Terkon’s ever had him cold, every single time he’s been caught. _It’s over,_ those memories scream. _It’s over. Too late. I resisted but he won. Suffering is coming. Too late. Too late. Too late._ They claw at his mind, trying to overcome him, drag him away into a place he can’t get out of.  
  
But Ryou stays calm. It’s so easy, somehow. He _should_ be panicking; every instinct of his own or Shiro’s is _screaming_ of danger. He should be terrified. Suffering is _coming._   
  
But those things aren’t the case anymore. They’re memories. They aren’t now. Ryou knows exactly where he is now. He acknowledges that pain, that suffering, that horror, recognizes that it happened. And then refuses to let it overcome him.   
  
_That is not me,_ he thinks. _That was never me. I am Ryou Shirogane, and I will protect the real Shiro from all of those things._   
  
The memories stop. Shiro’s panic goes still. Everything _quiets_ in his head, and control is his. All his.   
  
“Do you think me an _idiot,_ Champion?” Terkon sneers, digging his claws in a little harder to the armor, leaving deeper gouges. “You always fought hardest when you were desperate. Did you think I wouldn’t know you’d strike? Did you think I don’t remember your every attack pattern? Did you think you could tri—“  
  
Ryou shoots him.  
  
It’s not a very big blast—only as much as he could charge in his Olkari fingers in about three ticks. But his hand is exactly where he’d wanted it from the beginning, a foot away from Terkon’s face, and at this range he can’t miss. The Galra purple flickers back to pale Olkari green as he fires, and the little green pulse takes Terkon straight in the eye, melting it in its socket and gouging a hole in the side of his head.   
  
Terkon _shrieks._ He releases Ryou’s arm instinctively, and claws at his face with both hands. “What is—“  
  
Ryou shoots him again.  
  
This time it’s much stronger, a concentrated blast charged with his whole fist. The pale green energy melts the gauntlets to Terkon’s hands as he claws at his face, and chars and cracks the flesh beneath. He howls as the blast burns the entire right side of his skull, whatever his hands don’t manage to accidentally shield. Ryou can smell burning hair and cooking meat.  
  
Terkon howls and collapses over onto the ground, writhing in agony, and still clawing at his head. Most of the right side of his face is gone now, bleeding and smoking in turn. Only now, now that he doesn’t have power over his opponent, does he struggle to call for help, whimpering weakly as he tries to bring his communicator to his torn, burned jaw to speak. He can barely form words, though, and even if he could, it wouldn’t matter. The communicator on his wrist is a charred, broken mess of parts, and no longer serviceable.   
  
Terkon mewls pitifully, a noise that’s far too similar to those of his many, many victims. His one working eye rolls wildly to find Ryou, and he stares in terror.   
  
“Wh…wh…at…are…y…you…” he tries to gasp.  
  
At least he’d known the right question to ask.  
  
In the movies and TV shows the rest are so fond of, this would be the time for a snappy finishing line. Something clever to reveal what he is. Some kind of warning, or vengeful declaration, to let Terkon know exactly why he’s dying. Something to convey Ryou’s outrage for another, to let him know who he’s protecting.   
  
Ryou just shoots him again.   
  
This shot is fully charged, and brutally efficient. Terkon jerks once, and it’s over. The Galra stops his whimpering and his writhing, and finally falls still.   
  
Ryou closes his eyes.   
  
This sick son of a bitch had hurt Shiro badly, and Ryou won’t forgive him for it. He doesn’t regret that he’s the cause of the corpse at his feet. Shiro’s safe because of this.   
  
But now that it’s over, there’s no _feeling_ to it. He expects vindication, or justified outrage, but mostly he just feels numb and tired.  
  
Maybe that’s something he can deal with later, when everything isn’t quite so fresh.  
  
He breathes in once, deeply, trying to ignore the tang of blood, and the awful scents of burnt flesh. Those stir things in Shiro’s head too, and some memories of his own, but this time it’s the numbness and the fatigue that keep those at bay. He breathes out, slow and measured, taking all the tension with it.   
  
No more threats to Shiro. No more terrible memories, wielded like torturer’s knives. No more cruelty that comes with a face. At least not now. No regrets. This was worth it.  
  
Compared to everything Shiro has done for him, this is only the smallest of ways he can ever begin to pay his predecessor back. But at least it’s something.  
  
 _Need to move,_ he tells himself eventually, and he opens his eyes again. According to his visor, he’s about ten doboshes from the pre-determined rendezvous, and he still has a lot to do. If he doesn’t hurry, even with his warning, Shiro _will_ come and track him down. Terkon won’t be able to torment him anymore, but Ryou won’t risk triggering any of those things that had clawed their ways out of the recesses of Shiro’s blank year in _his_ head.   
  
So he gets to work. He can’t move Terkon, but he sets three charges around the Galra’s body on the floor, as close as possible. When the charges are blown, all evidence of Terkon will go with them. No one will ever know he was there.  
  
This _never_ will have happened.  
  
Injuries are next. Fortunately, Ryou had already made note of medical supplies stored in here, and Terkon hadn’t destroyed at least one case of them. He wraps his cut leg in bandages—the wound looks worse than it is, but it had bled a lot from him over-exerting in the fight. He’ll have to be careful, and think up a decent excuse for the others. The bruising he can’t do much about, but that’s easy enough to explain away, at least.  
  
He detours to the foodstuffs and finds water next, to wash the blood off of his armor. Some of it’s his—most of it is Terkon’s. Either way, the evidence has to go. It’s still fresh, and comes off easily enough. If anyone wonders why he’s soaked, he can point out that the docking station had been full of ocean water, and he’d set it to blow.   
  
Maybe the most problematic detail are the claw gouges and burns in Ryou’s armor. The gouges are definitely Galran, and the whip burns…he’s not sure if Shiro will recognize them. He eventually solves the problem by finding some of the stored Galra blasters he’d set to blow, and carefully shooting to graze his arm a few times. The blasts melt the gouges enough that they’re not recognizable, and it just looks like he’d gotten in a firefight before he’d had a chance to raise his shield. Not great for stealth and it will make him look a little stupid, but preferable to the alternative story.  
  
His last effort is to set the remaining charges. With the devastation Terkon had caused in the storage area, there’s no need to return there like he’d initially planned for. Ryou sneaks into the docking station instead, keeping a wary eye on Terkon’s cruiser, but nobody else emerges from it. He slaps the remaining charges around the docking station—at the doors, on some of the crates, a few on the cruiser itself—and finally finishes five doboshes after rendezvous.   
  
“I’m on my way,” he reports over the comms, as he taps the ‘v’ on his chest with his Olkari hand. The deep, almost-black purple oozes back to the point at his fingers, and his pale Olkari green armor is left. Like Shiro was never there. Like nothing ever happened.   
  
“Good,” Shiro answers. He sounds a little uneasy, but Ryou suspects that’s mostly because he’s still unaccounted for. Shiro would have no idea what had happened here. He’s just being overprotective. “Keith’s team just got back. Just waiting on you.”  
  
“Be there in a tick,” Ryou says.  
  
Getting back is a little tricky. There’s no blaring alarms, so his fight didn’t attract notice. Shiro didn’t mention any trouble, so his team must have caught those two sentries before they could call more down to cause a problem.   
  
But there _had_ been that third sentry that made it out to deliver orders on sentry repair parts. Keith’s team had been in that area, and they obviously hadn’t been caught, but the enemy messages must have gotten through. The halls are a little more active, now, as sentries head back to the docking station to deliver the required parts. Ryou’s forced to duck into side rooms and behind support pillars repeatedly as he makes his way back.  
  
It takes almost ten doboshes, and by the time he reaches the small docking station where they’d left the Blue Lion, he’s definitely ready to be gone. Most of the paladins are inside the Blue Lion, which is already lit up, still crouched with its mouth open to take on passengers. Shiro and Keith are both still waiting outside, though, and Lance is actually sitting on the Blue Lion’s artificial nose with his rifle trained on the door.   
  
“Oh, good,” Lance says, relieved. He raises his rifle the moment he realizes his target is Ryou. “Things were starting to get a little more active out there. We were worried they might check this place out.”  
  
“Did they get an order or something?” Ryou asks, coming closer. He knows exactly what the problem is, of course, but he’s not _supposed_ to.   
  
Terkon never _happened_ , after all.  
  
“We’re not sure,” Keith says. “Pidge didn’t pick anything up in the system, but the hallways started getting more active. _Something_ happened.”  
  
“Means it’s time to go,” Lance agrees with a nod, jumping off of the Blue Lion’s muzzle and ducking into the jaw hatch. “Let’s roll, people!”  
  
Ryou moves to follow, but Shiro catches him on the shoulder, and regards him with a worried frown. “You’re injured,” he says, immediately catching sight of the bandage on Ryou’s leg, and the scorch marks on his arm. “What happened? Are you okay?”  
  
Ryou looks him in the eye. Shiro only looks concerned; there’s really no way he could have known what happened.   
  
Ryou doesn’t intend to ever tell him. Shiro’s instincts, his memories, his _essence_ weeping softly in Ryou’s head over the things he’d done and that had been done to him are still too fresh. He won’t bring that on Shiro for anything.  
  
Terkon _never happened._   
  
So he offers a weak smile instead. “Fine, I promise,” he says. “Ran into a few sentries I wasn’t expecting. I got them down before they could sound the alarm, but they got off a few lucky shots.” He shrugs, which causes his Olkari arm to twinge a little in pain. He doesn’t let it show. It’ll be repairing itself now, and by the time they get back to the Castle, nobody will ever know. “Guess it’s because of whatever happened.”  
  
Shiro searches his face, meeting his eyes. Both of them have a bad habit of not being truthful about injuries or hurts, and both of them are very good at catching the other in his lies.   
  
But Ryou can’t allow himself to be caught in this. And if Haggar had ever given him _anything_ useful as a clone, it was the trick behind lying convincingly.  
  
The best lies were grounded in truth. Believe the lie was truth hard enough, and you could fool even yourself. As far as anyone would know, it would be real.  
  
And Terkon _never happened._   
  
Shiro searches, but he doesn’t find anything. “Okay,” he says after a moment, gently pushing Ryou for the Blue Lion’s jaw ramp. “Let’s get out of here then. We can get you taken care of back at the Castle soon enough. Smaller injuries like that won’t even take that long in the pods.”   
  
His voice is reassuring at that last part. Shiro knows how much Ryou hates those cryo-pods, how much they scare him. He always does what he can to make them as least objectionable as possible. He always makes a point of looking out for Ryou in any given situation.  
  
Sometimes it’s irritating. Shiro can be overprotective. For now, it’s nice, and Ryou lets Shiro nudge him into the Blue Lion and get him settled against one of the dashboards to take the weight off his bad leg. In a weird way, it seems to make Shiro more comfortable. He’s content to let Shiro be more obvious and hands-on with his protectiveness.  
  
Ryou will do the same for him. Just…quietly. Unobtrusively. He doesn’t need thanks or praise or recognition for it. Shiro doesn’t need to know what Ryou does for him. As long as Shiro’s okay, that’s all that matters.  
  
Once they’re all in, the Blue Lion’s jaw hatch snaps shut and seals against the water. Matt activates their hacks again, and the docking station doors open to let the Blue Lion through. Allura pilots them out into the deep water, and takes them far enough away that they’ll be safe from the blasts.   
  
She brings up a holographic screen of the facility behind them as they flee. Pidge stares at it for a moment, and then says, “Look!”  
  
“Is that a _ship?”_ Hunk asks, surprised.  
  
“Looks like a cruiser,” Shiro agrees, frowning. “I guess we know why activity started to raise.”  
  
“That wasn’t in the manifests,” Pidge says. “I have no idea who that is. They weren’t supposed to be here.”  
  
Ryou waits with his heart in his throat for them to realize which docking station the ship was at, but nobody does. It’s probably not even obvious, from this outside angle. He doesn’t sigh in relief, but he does let out a weary, ragged breath. Shiro must mistake it for pain, because he puts a reassuring hand on Ryou’s shoulder.   
  
“Let’s blow the charges,” Shiro orders.  
  
Hunk dutifully brings out the detonators, and Shiro presses the buttons himself, taking full responsibility for the destruction that happens that day. Ryou takes some small satisfaction in knowing that, whether Shiro realizes it or not, he’s just eviscerated one of his greatest tormentors.   
  
But Shiro will never know that. Some secrets are still Ryou’s to keep. So he watches as the first blasts rock the facility, beginning a vicious chain reaction. The building begins to cave in on itself and shred into rubble, and the pieces carry Ryou’s actions down into the black, watery depths to never be seen again.   
  
Ryou leans back against the dashboard, and finally lets himself relax.


End file.
